Thus can my love excuse the slow
offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I
speed:
From where thou art why should I haste
me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then
find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on
the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep
pace;
Therefore desire of perfect'st love
being made,
Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery
race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my
jade;
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him
leave to go.
View all
Shakespeare's Sonnets:
